


swaying from season to season

by twilighttown



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 05:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilighttown/pseuds/twilighttown
Summary: Beauty is mortal. To love is divine.(ioriku god/spirit au.)





	swaying from season to season

**Author's Note:**

> IM ALIVE HH
> 
> hello hello!!! i'm back, and this this time around, i had the pleasure of taking part in the [IDOLiSH7](http://https://twitter.com/idolish7bang) [Flashbang](https://idolish7bang.tumblr.com/)! i had a ton of fun writing this out, and even MORE fun getting to know my wonderful artist, [alexei](http://twitter.com/pelides), who drew the gorgeous(!!!) art featured down below and on his social media!
> 
> we both worked really hard, and hope you enjoy 'swaying from season to season'!

With the end of winter, so spring begins.

Iori sits, settled on his knees in a layer of snow, eyes trained on a bright green sprout that rises above the white blanket, ready to burst into life at any moment.

Soon, it will be spring. The season of love, marked with the first blossom that emerges from the layer of ice. Iori has bore witness to the first flower of spring every January for the last century.

A memory rings in his mind. _I’d like to try it, too,_ it says, with the voice of a bubbling spring, _falling in love._

Strange, how only a century ago, Iori hadn’t cared much for anything regarding ‘love.’ He does now, though.

After all, he’s in love.

Amidst the snow, the bud remains still.

He waits.

“Who are you?”

The god, only just born from the full January moon, raises his head towards the flower spirit who eyes him with a curious tilt.

With vibrant eyes like precious rubies, hair as fine as handcrafted silk, and golden skin as though he’d been kissed by the sun itself, the flower spirit is walking beauty; a living, breathing masterpiece.

Gods do not have hearts, but in the spirit’s presence, he forgets.

“A god. That of night and moonlight,” he answers, regaining his cool composure. “But the humans have named me ‘Iori.’”

“Iori,” the spirit tries, wrapping his peony-pink lips, soft like velvet, around the shape of Iori’s name. Iori’s breath stutters at the sound. It stops altogether when he smiles, as warm and bright as the first lights of dawn. “You can call me Riku.”

Flowers aren’t known to bloom in the dark of night, but Iori and Riku are inseparable. Even now, as Riku balances on the branches of a line of trees, Iori follows closely behind, keeping a close eye where Riku steps.

“Oh, Iori, look!” Riku points to a pair of men at the side of the road—one tan and broad-shouldered, the other, slender and pale, with bright blue eyes.

Iori doesn’t think much of them, really; they’re just another pair of humans in a world of millions. He watches them with disinterest, until he notices their intertwined hands.

“They’re in love, aren’t they?” Riku says. They watch the pair of humans stroll down the road, hands clasped tight and murmuring in each other’s ear, the sound of soft _You look lovelys_ and _I love yous_ carried along the breeze. The two come to a pause at a bench almost directly under Riku’s feet. “How nice...”

Humming curiously at the shy smiles the couple exchanges underneath the tree, Riku places his hand on its trunk, whispering a prayer for their happiness. At his blessing, greenery and blossoms burst against the bark, and the young couple startles at the sudden shower of petals. Riku giggles before skipping off to the next tree. “Humans are so interesting.”

“You say interesting,” Iori replies with a sigh. “I say strange. They’re too fixated on that thing they call ‘love.’”

Riku pauses, turning to face Iori. “But isn’t ‘love’ even more interesting than humans?”

“More like ephemeral,” Iori says. “Their ‘love’ lasts even shorter than they do; in time, one of them will move on from this love. Or die. Whichever comes first.”

Riku pouts. “Hey, who are you to talk about epheme—ephe... _short?_ Says the moon who’s only lived half as long as his brother!”

“It’s _ephemeral_ ,” Iori scoffs back. “And what does my age have to do with anything? What kind of spirit disrespects a god like that?”

“Well, what kind of god calls his own worshippers _strange?_ ”

Just as Iori is about to retort, Riku jumps.

The wind picks up, carrying Riku’s rose-red hair in a halo around his face as he floats down from the branch. Swathed in his pearlescent robes and backlit by the moon, Riku _glows_ mid-flight _—_ a lone petal, swaying and dancing in the cool night air.

With beauty like his, it is easy to remember that Riku is divine—Riku is immortal.

Iori is grateful for that.

  
It isn’t the last time they see the human couple. In fact, Riku and Iori seem to happen upon the pair often enough that Iori begins to wonder if Riku is actually seeking them out.

“What is it about these humans that fascinates you so?” Iori asks one day, as they watch the couple drift slowly across the lake in a rowboat. “Is ‘love’ really so intriguing?”

Riku crouches next to a patch of green in the lake, weaving a new flower together, petal by petal. “What, like you’re not interested?”

He’s not.

Why would he be? What is love, to a god? Love is for humans, and exists as they do: it’s transient. Mortal. He doesn’t understand why they care so much about ‘love.’ How foolish, Iori thinks, to be so attached to something so short-living. It’d make much more sense to ‘love’ something that doesn’t disappear—something like his brother, the sun, or the ever-present sea.

Something like a flower.

“I’d like to try it, too,” Riku sighs dreamily as he stitches another petal to the mass. “Falling in love, I mean.”

“Love is for fools,” Iori says; for some reason, he’s averse to the idea of Riku knowing love.

Riku scowls at him, annoyed. “You’re such a cold god, Iori.”

“And what of it,” Iori starts, but whatever Iori was about to say next vanishes at the sound of Riku’s soft gasp. He returns his gaze to the couple, leaning into each other, connected at the lips in a delicate kiss.

“L-Let’s go,” Riku stutters, leaving his half-finished flower in the lake. “I can do this later.”

“What? Why?” Iori questions, catching Riku’s hand before he can run off. “We’ll leave when you’ve finished. I thought you wanted to watch the humans more.”

At Iori’s words, Riku’s face burns bright red, making something tender unfold in Iori’s chest. _Cute._ “Not this! We can’t watch this, it’s—it’s _private!”_

“How so?” Iori holds fast as Riku struggles to pull him along. “It’s just a kiss. I don’t understand.”

Riku comes to a stop, staring incredulously at Iori. He darts his gaze back to the humans for a split second, before he speaks again. “Do you _want_ to understand?”

“Yes,” Iori says, entirely too ignorant.

He isn’t prepared for the way Riku cradles Iori’s face in his hands, tilting him ever so slightly downwards to lock their lips in a kiss of their own. He isn’t prepared for the way his whole body runs hot at the contact, the rush of emotion that floods him the moment he realizes what’s going on, the disappointment he feels when Riku pulls away.

“You get it now?” Riku asks, very pointedly _not_ looking Iori in the eye.

“Yes,” Iori says, pulling Riku in for another kiss, a little less ignorant, now.

Iori understands. From their kiss, and after, Iori understands everything—his instant attachment to Riku, the particular fondness he feels for his company, the beauty he finds in everything spirit is and does (though, he’d argue that last point is rather objective). Iori loves Riku.

To his delight, they become lovers, too—or at least, something like it, divine as they are. They imitate the human couples, walking hand in hand, sharing kisses when the mood is right. Perhaps the humans can tell how in love they are, too; the moon has become a symbol of romance, and humans give each other flowers to show their love.

Iori and Riku are in love.

Iori is in love.

He’s never felt so wonderfully _human_ before.

For some few blissful, perfect years, Iori forgets that humans die.

Iori and Riku look on as a healer pores over the tanned man on the ground, chest heaving and dripping with red, having shielded his love from a knife in his back. The pale man kneels next to her, clasping his partner’s hand between his own and weeping.

“I have to do something,” Riku whispers, mostly to himself.

He knows what Riku is thinking.

“No, you don’t.” He keeps Riku in place by the hand, but Riku isn’t listening.

“I have to do something,” he repeats.

“Why?” Iori says, white-hot desperation flaring in his stomach. “They’re human. They die. They all do.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Riku chides. “I blessed them. I have to do _something_.”

“But _why?”_ Iori doesn’t understand. Again, he doesn’t understand.

“Because I feel about you the way he feels about him,” Riku says, firm.

Iori protests more, tightening his hold on Riku’s hand. “But gods don’t _die!”_

“But if you _did_ ,” Riku insists. He raises their intertwined hands to his lips, kissing Iori gently at the knuckle. “I couldn’t bear that pain. Not for a minute. And certainly not for eternity.”

“I don’t understand,” Iori says, voice a shaky whisper. He brings his other hand to cup Riku’s face, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

“Humans may be mortal,” Riku replies, as more tears streak down his cheeks. “But to love—that is divine."

  
Iori comes to understand later, when Riku is nowhere to be found.

When no flowers grace the landscape save for the bright red blooms that sprout near the men’s household, used in medicine to aid the tanned man’s speedy recovery.

But not even the couple’s teary reunion can fully eclipse the emptiness in Iori’s immortal heart. In sorrow, he blots out the moon’s light, honoring Riku’s sacrifice as much as he can.

Flowers used to bloom year-round.

The moon mourns.

The sun takes pity on him.

“I can revive him,” Mitsuki says, rubbing comforting circles on Iori’s back. “But not forever. Only a little at a time.”

It’s enough.

_Soon._

Iori crouches over the young bud, growing impatient. January is coming to an end. The nights grow shorter. His brother grows stronger.

Reunion will come soon.

Suddenly, a gentle hand tucks a pale white flower, full like the moon above, into the soft locks of Iori’s hair. At the touch, Iori whirls around, and meets familiar red eyes that sparkle with new life.

“Thank you for waiting,” Riku says with a smile, voice as sugar-sweet as ever.

Catching Riku’s hand in his, Iori pulls him near and slowly tilts their faces closer, closer still, until their foreheads touch. He sighs contentedly against Riku’s skin, and the laugh that spills from Riku’s lips carries the melody of singing birds. “Welcome home,” he breathes.

In the wake of spring, Riku is warm.

**Author's Note:**

> (psst, come say hi to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/6gravity) and [tumblr](http://accordatura.tumblr.com)!)


End file.
